A Wisp of Smoke
by Phoenix Dayze
Summary: When tragedy strikes, the guys must find a way to break free. Darkness, severe angst, death, hurtcomfort, some forms of masochism, and lots of pain.


A Wisp of Smoke

By: Phoenix Dayze

Disclaimer: I do not own Saiyuki. This never happed. Obviously.

It should have kept raining. Then it would have been okay to feel this way, to have his heartbeat drowned out—stilled—by the misery that leaked from his chest. It would have been acceptable for him to feel lost and tangled in smothering images of the past. But the unfeeling rain had ceased the second the last blow had fallen, and the past that haunted Sanzo now was far too recent.

_Red hair. Two long, glowing bands of surging power. The choking sounds of burning pain from lips that were born for sarcastic mirth. A triumphant yet sorrowful grin on a face he'd never forget. _He should have come sooner.

Damn Hamura! Damn him to the pits of Hell! This was all his fault! Him and his ridiculous obsession with the monkey! If he hadn't kidnapped Goku, Gojyo would never have gone out searching for him, never would have found what he was looking for, never would have… Yes, he should have come sooner.

Sanzo stared at the mound of fresh earth that Hakkai had just finished smoothing over with a falsely steady hand. _Why was I so stupid? Why couldn't I admit what I was feeling? Why did I let him go alone?_ He didn't have the answers to any of those questions, but it didn't matter anyway. What was done was done. He had eventually cursed himself and followed after where Gojyo had gone, but too late to be of any use. Gojyo was an excellent tracker, a fight had ensued, and by the time Sanzo had arrived, things were out of his hands, and Gojyo had fallen.

A forcibly unfamiliar sensation burned in the back of his eyes, and he swallowed the thick, bitter truth that threatened to choke him. This whole thing was stupid. He shouldn't be reacting this way. It was just the damn kappa! It wasn't like they were friends! Gojyo was—had been—a bastard, a shameless player, and an all-around pest. He should be glad to be rid of him. Surely that tremble that Sanzo couldn't quite shake from his limbs was some sort of morbid relief?

"Sanzo?"

Sanzo started at the soft voice, and stiffened. He set his selfishness aside long enough to note that Hakkai had to be suffering much worse than he was—if he _were_ suffering that is—after all, Gojyo had been Hakkai's best friend. He had known him longer and much better than the rest of them. Now that he was aware, Sanzo could feel the hurt wafting off the other man in waves, flooding across the clearing to whisper against Sanzo's own soul. He knew that if turned around and looked, however, that that eternally forced smile would still be in place. It seemed to be Hakkai's self-appointed job to be unaffected.

Sanzo turned slowly, keeping his eyes averted. "You ready to go?" He would remain calm; he wouldn't let Hakkai see what he most definitely wasn't feeling.

"Sanzo, look at me." Hakkai's voice was soft and calm, like always, but there was some underlying emotion that Sanzo vaguely recognized as heartbreak.

Sanzo didn't want to look, couldn't keep control over his traitorous heart with Hakkai staring into his soul. But Hakkai so rarely asked anything of anyone, and the hurt was still there, louder now, and more poignant, and Sanzo couldn't _not_ meet those emerald eyes. He looked up. The 'Hakkai smile' was gone, replaced by a stoicism Sanzo hadn't known existed. The piercing green gaze was alight with vibrant pain and the dark, untamable taint of loss, and they held Sanzo in their clutches without room for reprieve or escape.

"It's okay to grieve, Sanzo. Gojyo wouldn't think less of you for it," he paused, then added, "no matter what he says."

Sanzo's jaw clenched, and the burning in his eyes and chest increased, and Sanzo refused to give in. "I don't need to grieve." He spat out. "Let's just go!" He stormed over to the jeep, intending to climb in and have done with it, to drive away and forget that Gojyo had ever existed, but as he wrapped his hand around he handle, preparing to pull himself up, his eyes spied a pack of Gojyo's cigarettes stuck between the seats. For a moment, time seemed to stretch and thin, everything went very still and Sanzo forgot how to breathe. Then, time skewered and twisted, snapped back and dumped Sanzo hard on his ass.

Pain. It stabbed through Sanzo's numb consciousness like a flaming knife, cutting him open and spilling his tightly bottled humanity out for all to see. A trembling, agonizing cry rippled through him, and Sanzo screamed. He banged his fists against the door of the jeep, then grabbed on and sank his nails into the unforgiving metal. His entire body quaked, and he thought he might give out beneath the strain of releasing what he couldn't bear to feel, until he felt Hakkai's arms slide around his waist to steady him.

Hakkai's body was soft and firm at once, cool and too hot as it pressed solidly against his back, pulling them as tight together as he could. Sanzo shook in his grasp, and Hakkai held him as lifetimes of unshed tears finally broke through.

Hakkai clenched his fists in the front of Sanzo's robes with rigid knuckles, and buried his face in Sanzo's shoulder, feeling the corded muscles, the rough, aching lines of Sanzo's body as he let out his own pain into the air around them, letting it twist and mingle with Sanzo's, letting it bind them together with a closeness only tragedy can forge. He breathed hot, turgid anguish against Sanzo's neck, and there was a telltale shudder of Sanzo's body before he stilled for an endless moment.

Without warning, Sanzo spun around in his arms and fused their mouths together. The sudden pressure was maddening and Hakkai gave himself up to it, opening himself to what Sanzo was so desperately searching for, what he couldn't deny would feel dangerously good. Sanzo's tongue thrust into his mouth, twisting and coiling with a restlessness that matched the ache in Hakkai's heart. It was hot and hard and insistent. Everything that made Sanzo who he was, only this time it was demonstrated through grief-prompted passion rather than his usual anger.

Sanzo pawed through Hakkai's hair until finally settling his hands tightly against the man's neck, his nails digging painfully into the skin. Small rivulets of blood oozed beneath his fingers, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the wet heat that plied against his tongue, the brief suction on his lips, the hard body pressing, sinking, into his own. He needed it, craved it, and more. He'd been without for too long, denied himself until it was too late. And now, all he could do was put his troubles into Hakkai's capable hands.

"Hakkai." A single word—a question, a command—and a tiny thrust of his hips, and Hakkai was taking the lead. Sanzo's robes were quickly yanked up around his waist, and one of Hakkai's hands worked at the fastenings of Sanzo's jeans, while the other one mashed his chest down against the hood of the car. Sanzo reveled in the weight of the man's hand as his jeans were shoved to mid-thigh. "Do it, Hakkai." He was immobile, trapped by the jeep, Hakkai's body, and his own constrictive clothing. He was completely at Hakkai's mercy, and that was just how he wanted it. It kept him from backing out. He wanted—needed—this no matter how against it he might be later. "Do it."

Hakkai hurriedly released his own flesh and lined himself up. He laced his fingers around Sanzo's hips in an iron hold—"Forgive us, Hakuryuu."—and thrust hard.

Sanzo growled through clenched teeth as red-hot pain shot through him, and he felt Hakkai hesitate. "Don't stop." He ground out. "It'll pass." His nails scored across the metallic hood as he tried to find purchase against what was to come, but ended up imbedded in his own palms. "Take me hard."

Hakkai could feel extra warmth—stickiness—around his cock, and he knew that it was blood, but he kept moving, as Sanzo had ordered, pounding in and out of that too tight heat. Sanzo wanted this. He _needed_ to be hurt like this. So Hakkai stroked with long, deep, hard thrusts as fast as their bodies would allow, brutally seeking his own release and leaving Sanzo to fend for himself.

Sanzo was drunk on tension and filament guilt, and it dripped from his skin like the damning sweat that was breaking out along his flesh. He was hard, wired like a dying man charged with an electrical current, rigid and needing… The air left his lungs in harsh, shallow groans that he barely managed to gasp out as he was pummeled relentlessly forward into the side of the jeep, the cold, ungiving panel bruising and scraping his otherwise untouched member. It hurt with such delicious fervency, and the increasingly ragged thrusts into his core were a tangible, abrasive distraction, and Hakkai was forceful and yearning and pulling them both up, up, up…away from the shallow grave, away from the glassy-eyed corpse beneath the fresh earth, away from the shitty reality that dominated their pathetic lives. And it was real, solid, and it _hurt_, and Sanzo was so close to losing control.

And then Hakkai jerked and stuttered behind him, and a burst of warmth bloomed inside him. Hakkai's fingers tightened their already punishing hold, his nails finally piercing the skin. That did it. The tiny sliver of bright, distorted pain sent Sanzo spiraling over the edge. A harsh, growling sob broke free of his chest as his abused flesh flooded with life and death at once. His head thrashed from side to side as he rode out the waves of intense, shredded completion.

Sanzo shivered and panted as awareness slowly crept back. He was sweaty and his chest was plastered to the hood of the car. Hakkai was sprawled over his back, his arms looped loosely around Sanzo's waist, his face cradled in the slope of his shoulder, breath warm and moist. Time seemed to start again, and reality returned, despite all prayers to the contrary. The world still existed, their mission was still ahead of them, and Gojyo was still very much gone. A pang of sizzling sorrow shot through Sanzo's heart, but the thick, consuming grief that had been choking him began to dissipate, curling up into the sky like a wisp of smoke carried away on the wind.

Hakkai carefully pulled away, not commenting on the pained hiss that Sanzo couldn't choke back. He quickly tucked himself back into the welcome shield of clothing and turned his back to Sanzo so that his friend might do the same, without the humiliation of his gaze. Sanzo would be feeling vulnerable, embarrassed and uncertain; there was no point in exploiting it. It had been a mutual comfort.

Sanzo somehow managed to pull himself back together, smoothing his robes—as much as he could—back into their usual pristine condition. Sweat soaked through in dark grayish patches over his chest, that small proof a little too concrete for him, but there was no help for it. Questions swirled in his mind. Why did he have to be so rash? Things were bad enough without making things uncomfortable between himself and Hakkai. After all, it was just the two of them now…

"Shall we go?"

Sanzo's rambling, unfocused thoughts were cut short by Hakkai's utterly 'normal' inquiry, and he found himself staring into green that was, even as he looked, masking everything away behind the impenetrable emerald shield. He nodded, gratefully, as they pulled themselves into the jeep, wincing slightly as he settled down into his seat. Hakkai wouldn't say anything. And neither would he. There was no need to.

Reaching between the seats, Sanzo tugged out Gojyo's spare pack of cigarettes. He turned the pack over in his hand a few times before tapping one out and accepting it between his lips. He could feel Hakkai's awareness on him as he tucked the pack into his robes. He felt around for his lighter and jumped slightly when Hakkai's hand offered him a well-worn, all too familiar object. Sanzo stared at it silently, flinching a bit when Hakkai flicked the treasured lighter to life. The small flame wavered precariously under their combined breaths, and Sanzo brought up a hand to protect the fragile blaze from the wind, a sentiment that Hakkai seemed to mirror.

Sanzo leaned forward until the tip of the cigarette was nudging insistently against the tiny flame. He inhaled and breathed the stick to life. Sweet, bitter flavors wafted through his senses, and Sanzo held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before slowly releasing it back out into the world. He caressed the cig—almost lovingly—between his fingers. "Perhaps I _should_ switch brands." He said offhandedly.

"Well," Hakkai replied, "that would certainly piss Gojyo off, to do it now. He's been trying to get you to switch since we left."

There was a long moment of awkward silence, then, "Shut up…or I'll kill you."

Hakkai gave Sanzo a small smile out of the corner of his eyes as he started up the jeep.

And leaning back in his seat, his face tilted up into the wind, Sanzo smiled back.

The End.


End file.
